


Mycroft's Call

by Freebirdflying



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF John, BAMF John Watson, Bars and Pubs, Coming Out, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft being nice, Mycroft's Meddling, Old Friends, Phone Calls & Telephones, old army buddies, pub night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 20:25:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10704474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freebirdflying/pseuds/Freebirdflying
Summary: John's meeting up with old army mates, most of whom he has not seen since being invalided out of Afghanistan.  His life now, as a part-time doctor, blogger, crime fighter, and boyfriend of Sherlock Holmes is brilliant, but not easy to explain in a quick introductory blurb.  While he knows that in the grand scheme of things--he doesn't see them often, anyhow--their opinion of him doesn't matter, it's only human nature to want to be seen as successful.  An unexpected person makes sure they find out he's a BAMF.





	Mycroft's Call

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Eyeballs and Beer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10463817) by [Freebirdflying](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freebirdflying/pseuds/Freebirdflying). 



The sounds of bickering, one voice condescending and one voice snarky, met John halfway up the seventeen steps he was trudging up after a long day at the clinic. Mycroft. Lovely. He winced and considered turning around and going to sit on a bench at the park for a while, but he really was tired and was at the point of needing tea so badly that he was willing to brave even a Holmes Brothers argument.

“Absolutely not. I refuse. This case is barely a two. And besides, John’s already got plans tomorrow night, and I am _not_ suffering through one of those tedious formal dinners alone.”

“Dear brother...I know very well you haven’t left the flat in three days. The Greek ambassador…”  
Mycroft had not yet given up. “Oh, good afternoon, Dr. Watson.” 

“Mycroft.” John nodded his greeting as he shrugged off his coat and hung it up by the door. “I don’t suppose you’ve made tea, since we have a guest?” he chided Sherlock, knowing full well that the Holmeses had probably started sniping at each other straight away before taking the time for any such considerations of comfort. This question was deemed rhetorical and answered only by a snort. 

“Sherlock, why must you…” The argument continued as he escaped to the kitchen and put on the kettle. He came back out to the kitchen door and leaned on the doorframe, settling in to watch the verbal volleys as if he were watching a tennis match. The discussion of whether Sherlock would deign to involve himself in the case Mycroft had requested his efforts on was interlarded with comments about weight (Mycroft’s), boredom (Sherlock’s), and idiocy (the Greek ambassador’s, for getting himself in the embarrassing situation in the first place). 

By the time John brought out three cups of tea, both parties seemed to be tiring. 

“And all of your arguments are moot. As I already plainly informed you, I won’t go by myself, and John’s busy. So no.” 

The party did sound tedious, full of overdressed ambassadors and attaches focused on networking rather than actual enjoyment, so John backed this up immediately. “Yes, bit of a reunion with my old army mates. Haven’t seen some of them, actually all of them but Bill, since...for several years...” 

Sherlock made a face like he’d just thought of some new topic to badger his brother about, so John continued. “...We’re meeting down at the Rook and Robin. It’ll be...good...to catch up.” He hesitated a bit. He was looking forward to seeing them all...really, he was. They had been through a lot together in Afghanistan, and he really should have made more of an effort to keep in touch. But he was also a bit...not nervous, really, but...wary, maybe...cautious, that’s the word. He hadn’t finished his last tour with them, having been invalided out, and several had gone on another tour after that. He might well be listening to inside jokes and recaps of stories he hadn't been there for. Despite the fact that he wouldn’t change it now as it had led him to Sherlock and the mad life he now lived, he couldn’t help still feeling a bit of disappointment at going out that way, for not being able to finish his mission. 

And then there’s the likelihood of it becoming somewhat of a pissing contest of whose post-army life was most successful; good-natured though it was likely to be, it was only human nature to want to impress old mates. And while his life was incredible, it didn’t always translate well into a quick introductory blurb. Part-time locum work at a clinic, after having been a trauma surgeon; blogger; assistant to a detective. It just didn’t express how brilliant it all really was. 

And then there was Sherlock. 

He and Sherlock had now been _together_ for nearly a year. He had finally admitted to himself that there had been a certain attraction, some spark of something more than just simple friendship, since the day they met; after years of miscommunication and separation and knowing what it feels like to lose each other, he’d finally worked through his sexuality crisis. It hadn’t been easy, adjusting his self-identity at this point in life. It had helped a lot that everyone in their lives had not been terribly surprised when his bisexuality was confirmed, and as they all had seen Sherlock and him go through so much together already, they had just been happy that they had found some joy at last. Greg had bought him several pints (and Sherlock one, when he’d bothered to come down to the pub), and Mrs. Hudson had made celebratory cakes until Sherlock had actually invited Mycroft over _on purpose_ to help eat them. 

It wasn’t often, though, that he had to _announce_ that he had a boyfriend. (Boyfriend...boyfriend. Still made him giggle a bit when he thought about it. But partner led to awkward conversation about business partner vs. romantic partner, lover made him sound like a lecherous old man or an overwrought poet, and significant other really just seemed like dodging the question and then having to explain anyhow when she pronouns started to be used, so what else would he call him?). 

He wasn’t embarrassed to have Sherlock; no, he had never been happier and Sherlock was the best thing that could have happened to him. He would keep his head held high and wouldn’t hide it from anyone. He had nothing to fear from them (and if they didn’t like it, well, this was the first time seeing many of them in years; it would be no hardship if they weren’t part of his life in the future). 

But despite being confident in his choices in life, there was still that little niggle of doubt. It’s only human to want to impress mates, to be respected and appreciated. He wanted them to think of him as successful, even if their opinion of his life didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. How would they react to his job, his blogging, his choice of partner? Would they understand how brilliant it really was? 

John sipped his tea and was brought out of his thoughts by Mycroft rising from Sherlock’s chair as he prepared to give up and leave. 

“Well, Sherlock, I see that you are determined to marinate in your boredom rather than make yourself useful. Do remember that Mummy and Father will be coming into the city next weekend, and will expect…”

John finished his tea as a fresh squabble broke out over Sherlock showing up for the planned family dinner (which he knew that Sherlock already planned to attend; after all, he’d had John call Mummy to confirm the plans--he was just feigning reluctance to wind Mycroft up). 

“Don’t be tiresome, Sherlock. I trust you _are_ still working on the Yates case?”

“Yes, yes...I solved that last week. You’ll get your mole; he’s been on vacation in Majorca but will return on Saturday afternoon. I’ve already deduced his likely movements after that and Sunday night will be the optimum opportunity to corner him with the evidence on him. Just make sure your people are ready to collect him; I don’t have time to babysit him while you wake people up.”

“Naturally. I would much prefer if you would alert the team of your location _before_ you detain him, of course.” 

Sherlock waved this off with a flick of his hand. “Go find someone else’s life to meddle with, Mycroft. Preferably in New Zealand, as that’s the furthest you could possibly get from here. The sheep need you.” 

Mycroft only responded by rolling his eyes. “Good day, John.” 

John nodded as he wandered back into the kitchen for a refill. “Bye, Mycroft.” Mycroft collected his umbrella and left with a final glare at the back of his brother’s head. 

 

**********

 

John, being both early to arrive and, after years of criminals, preferring to have his back to the wall, was crammed into the middle of the corner booth. The waitress had barely set down the first pint for Tony, the last to arrive, when John’s phone rang. 

A quick glance: Mycroft. Really? He knows where I’m at. I mentioned it when he was at the flat sneering at Sherlock yesterday, and a Holmes never forgets anything. This better not be a last minute attempt to get Sherlock involved in the Greek Ambassador scandal. Wanker. 

John glanced around a bit frantically. No way to take the call privately without making three people get up and move to let him out. Besides, Mycroft’s calls were usually short and to the point. He thought about just not answering, but there was always that niggling fear: _What if Sherlock’s in trouble…_

“So sorry...I’ve got to take this…” he mumbled an apology as he scowled at his phone. “It’ll be brief, if you all don’t mind, I don’t want to make you all move…” 

“Go on then, no bother,” from Kevin, and nods from a couple of others. Kevin turned to ask Jimmy if his cute little sister was still single, but before he could open his mouth, his attention was diverted back to John’s phone call as soon as he heard the rather non-standard greeting:

“Fuck off, Mycroft.” 

“You know damn well where I am. Can’t I just have _one_ evening catching up with friends in a pub without interference from a Holmes? This had better be important.”

“No, I _don’t_ think we should move it up to tonight. Sherlock’s tracked his movements and he won’t be alone until 3 am at least, and probably not until tomorrow. And tomorrow night’s our best shot of catching him with as few people around as possible.”

“Well, it’s all fine for YOU to say, but I’d rather wait. Just in case it comes to...well, you know.”

John tried to remember to be discreet, as he realised that the conversation around him had lulled, and seven people were pretending not to be listening. This caution was forgotten in a fit of temper after whatever Mycroft said next.

“Last time I had to shoot someone in front of witnesses, Greg didn’t speak to me for a month!” 

“We are not your personal clean up crew whenever your precious little minions of the MI6 cock things up!”

“Okay, well maybe we _are_ your own personal clean up crew. Why do you even _have_ an MI6 if you can’t trust the damn spies? But I think this one’s gonna even the score for taking care of the ASBOs last month.”

“What do you mean, what ASBOs? The ones from when Sherlock and I got a bit..um..carried away outside the Royal Opera House…”

“Yes, yes, you were very helpful _after_ the fact--and I know you only did it so you can smirk at him and threaten to bring it up in front of your mother at dinner next weekend--but you were conveniently unreachable that night, considering we were there undercover on _your_ case. We had to get Lestrade to pull rank on that prick of a sergeant…

“Why are you…”

“Yes, I have sufficient ammunition.” 

“Of course I’m fully recovered from the altercation on the boat. _He_ was the one with the broken arm and concussion; I was just bruised. Do you really think I’d put Sherlock in danger by not admitting I was at less than full capacity if I wasn’t? 

“Don’t even start about the Greek ambassador.”

“Oh, stuff it. I’m going to have a few pints now; you’re going to fuck off.”

“Mycroft, what’s the person behind me wearing?”

“So I know which camera to flip off!” 

John swiveled, glancing behind him to find the man with the Kermit-the-frog t-shirt, and then back around, eyes searching the corners. His gaze froze on the one at the angle that would put the muppet-shirted man behind him to the viewer, and gave it a pointed grimace while lifting a middle finger in its direction. 

“Now, sod off and leave me alone. Go sort out the ambassador’s indiscretions yourself if you need something to meddle with.

“Oh, _really_? You know, I think that at Mummy’s birthday dinner next weekend I’ll just mention what happened last Wednes…” 

John didn’t finish the sentence as the phone call ended abruptly. 

“Prick.” 

He gave a last glare and huff of annoyance at the phone before sliding it back into his jacket pocket with a little more force than necessary before noticing the silence. 

“Oh, um, sorry about that. So, what about Arsenal last week?” 

He looked up to seven impressed faces, all gaping at him curiously. 

“MI6? What are you _into_ , mate?” 

“You’re actually licensed for a gun? What, are you James Bond?” 

“Getting shot sure didn’t slow you down, did it?” 

John spent the next half hour giving the highlights of his life since leaving Afghanistan; only Bill had read his blog, so he was able to regale them with stories of cases that made the blog and crazy situations he and Sherlock had gotten into that hadn’t made the blog. His relationship with Sherlock came out naturally in the conversation, but the blokes recovered quickly from the surprise and didn’t seem to be put off. The one who dared make a rude speculative remark about who was the bottom had his shin kicked rather sharply by his neighbor and kept further thoughts to himself. The conversation eventually moved on to a review of the others’ lives, but John was the undisputed sensation of the evening. By the time they staggered out after a pint too many, he was slapped on the back enthusiastically by nearly everyone, and had gained several new readers of his blog. 

 

**********

The next morning, he was reliving the evening in his mind while flopped on the couch waiting for the paracetamol to kick in for his headache. After a few minutes’ contemplation, he picked up his phone from the coffee table and typed out a quick message. 

_Thank you, Mycroft. --JW_

**Author's Note:**

> The phone call part of this is nearly identical to the phone call in Eyeballs and Beer, with only minor changes. The one-sided phone conversation was the first fanfiction I ever actually wrote down, several months ago. When I went to finish it, it turned into Eyeballs and Beer. I'm happy with how that fic turned out, but it ended up with quite a different focus than what I'd originally intended. My original intent was for the fic to be about Mycroft doing something kind, albeit in the most annoying way possible. So I finally got around to reworking just that part into a separate fic that actually features Mycroft prominently. Sorry for the overlap. 
> 
> It's really up to you whether this is canon-compliant or not. In my mind, it's a couple of years after Sherlock's return from the fall; John and Mary went on a few dates while he was gone but nothing came of it and John was single when Sherlock got back. But it could just as well be after her death. Whatever, so long as she is not present. 
> 
> This wasn't edited as carefully as my other fics, so if you see typos or any other issues tell me. 
> 
> Happy Earth Day, everyone!


End file.
